Filched
by Yukitsu
Summary: [Set two years after the series] The Geneiryodan, once again reunited with their Leader, raids an underground auction. They make away with the auction's prized display: The last living Kuruta. Eventual Kuropika.
1. Chapter 1: A Little Extra

**Filched **

**By Yukitsu**

_Disclaimers: _Hunter X Hunter is not mine, nor are its characters in any way my possessions. No profit, please don't sue, no money, no KuraPC.

Warning: It's CRACK. CRAAAACK. Well, okey, so it's not that bad of a crack, but it IS still cracky. Oh, and a lot of head-hopping/ POV-hopping happening here. I AM OMNIPOTENT! Cough. No, I'm not, but I did go wonky with the POVs here. Fixed it in the second chapter, though!

Notes: I should improve on my endings, really. But anyway, to cheat that weakness of mine, I'm making this multi-chaptered. That, and Lynlyn seems rather happy to have me write another multi-chap. o.o

------

**Chapter One:**

_A Little Extra._

When the Geneiryodan had raided a small – well, it was big enough – underground auction, they hadn't expected live displays. Apparently, the organizers had informed the greater, interested, but helplessly _middle-classed_ population that they were selling off antiques. This same information had been what Shalnark had gotten, and so, with the belief that they would come back with priceless jars and the like, they were excusably shocked to find themselves facing living artifacts. Oh, there were jars all right, huge ones to house the their main attractions in.

The Geneiryodan wasn't really all that picky, but their leader, Kuroro, still made his displeasure clear against taking living treasures. They were too much to handle and dispose of, he said, and wouldn't be worth half as much _dead_.

They were even more surprised – though Kuroro hadn't even blinked, as he was wont to do – when on the highest, grandest pedestal sat the Chain Assassin himself, petrified yet glaring at them. He was dressed in the blue and orange tribal attire Kuroro had last seen him wear, and even without it, it was still obvious that he was a Kuruta because his eyes were wide and eerily glowing bright red.

This wasn't a common occurrence, even the ever-forgetful Shizuku was aware of that fact, and they were perplexed as to what to do. So when Kuroro stepped up – for they had gone on for a long time without him around and had gotten used to deliberating by themselves – they were all go for his plan; that was, to get all the non-living valuables and to get the hell out of there.

Given the pitiful amount of dead things they could take, and Kuroro's handy Inju-stolen _Nen_ skill, they were out of the place in minutes. The rowdier members of the Ryodan hadn't even managed to reach their usual number of victims and the like, for the Ryodan had infiltrated in during the night, and there were minimal people. It was a very easy though disappointing raid.

Kuroro's stolen skill was so handy that he even managed to bring in excess baggage with him.

Kurapika hadn't been too happy when he had been put back to his normal size and found his still-petrified self gracelessly sprawled on the ground surrounded by the group he spent much of his life hunting.

"How the hell did you get caught by those bastards?" Nobunaga spat, looking at him down his nose (which was difficult indeed) in a moment of contempt. "I can't believe you managed to kill Ubo."

By this time, Kurapika, whose eyes had been poisoned to remain scarlet for a long time and allowed to blink only once every other minute, had started gathering his wits about him. Seeing how he couldn't blink let alone speak, the blond settled for intensifying his glare instead.

Now, his eyes – which were big enough to start with – had already been forced to widen by his former captors. You can only imagine how creepy and psychotic he must have looked.

Nobunaga burst out laughing.

"Let's just kill him."

There was a murmur of agreement from the other members.

"Wait. I'd like to have a moment with him," said Kuroro. Before they could protest, their Dancho had already swept the blond up and disappeared to another room.

And before Nobunaga could spout off curses capable of making one's ears bleed, Shizuku wisely mused that the Dancho must want Kurapika's _Nen_. The rest of them easily agreed, though Feitan and Phinx had a bet that it was for a quick screw.

------

On the other side of the stereotypically abandoned building, Kuroro was settling the Kuruta down on a rickety chair that Kurapika would have doused with Lysol had he the chance. Meanwhile, Kurapika protested through all of this by yelling his head off – or in his mute case, making choked gurgling noises.

"You sound like a toddler," Kuroro commented, and Kurapika shut up.

"I'm interested to know how you got yourself in that situation."

Kurapika gave him a look bordering on mild incredulity, and Kuroro chuckled.

"I apologize. Let's see…" The Kuruta's eyes widened (even more) in alarm as the Skill Hunter materialized in front of him, and even though it was barely noticeable, nothing escaped the Spider's leader's eyes.

"_Nen_ erasers are very useful allies." A flick of the hand and the poisonous _Nen_ circulating in the blond's body disappeared. A flip of a page and another flick, and Kurapika had been forced into _Zetsu_ even before he had processed what had happened.

"Why?" Kurapika all but croaked out as he picked himself up from the floor he had landed on when his body jerked out of his seat at the sudden freedom.

"How long were you under paralysis? One week? Your voice and body movement couldn't have been reduced to such with anything less than that."

"Two," the blond snapped as he eased down on the chair and resisted the urge to rub his eyes. Apparently, standing up was the last thing his body wanted to do. "Why did you help me?"

"You are the last Kuruta," Kuroro said absently as he mused on the other's answer, "Two weeks. No wonder the _Nen_ that paralyzed you had become so convoluted. It was starting to turn toxic, were you aware of that fact? I'm impressed you can even move right now."

"Why do you care if I'm the last Kuruta?" the said last Kuruta demanded, rising a little from his seat in outrage and ignoring the positive appraisal, "You're the reason why I'm the last one in the first place!"

"Precisely for that reason," Kuroro lightly shrugged, his smile thin even though his tone was conversational, "The Geneiryodan is known for being thorough – to have a survivor is unthinkable. Yet there is this child who _did_ survive, and even managed to go as far as momentarily crippling us. It would be a pity if someone like you ended up as nothing but expensive entertainment for society's rich and whimsical."

Instead of being flattered by the compliment, though, it served only to further fuel Kurapika's anger. His Eyes flared up, and before his brain could start processing what he was doing, he had already lunged from his chair with his fist in the air, intending to sock the older man one on the face.

Two weeks of captivity and constant abuse of his Eyes had left its toll on his body however, and with his _Nen_ once again sealed, Kuroro easily blocked his attack. The man slipped a hand around his pale wrist, yanked him around, and pinned him face-first against the wall. Kurapika was lucky he had managed to maneuver his head so he didn't end up kissing the dirty wall.

"I suggest you calm down and return your Eyes to their normal state, Kuruta. The paralysis aside, I'm sure the extended exposure of the Eyes must have drained you of your energy. Especially since you lack training."

"How would you know?" Kurapika spat furiously, even though his struggles were feeble against his captor. Kuroro smiled, and for the first time since they met, Kurapika's fear overrode his anger. He was reminded that, in this situation, he was on the helpless side of things. It was a wonder that he hadn't been left at the mercy of the man with the sword and pointy hair.

"I did do my research and observation before I let the Ryodan raid your village," the dark-haired man explained easily, shifting his hold on the wrists and pinning the other body with his own to be more comfortable.

"_Observation!"_

"I watched your clan for close to ten days," Kuroro clarified, dismissing the trembling he felt from the youth as rage. He was used to that kind of reaction from his less than friendly acquaintances; most people were afraid of death, after all.

"Now that I think about it, you must have been that child who spent a lot of time reading on the steps of a brown house with a blue door."

The trembling stopped as Kurapika went limp. Kuroro allowed his companion to slide to the floor, and then bent down slightly to peer at the crouched frame like one would a puppy in a pet store. The trembling graduated to shaking.

"I suggest you keep away from the Mafia from now on, as they are part of the organizing team that held you captive. They will be after you, unless you parade around as a female again. Whatever your plans are, postpone them for a moment. You should rest. We will be gone when you wake up."

"Not bloody likely," the blond mumbled half heartedly, depressed, outraged, and dismayed that the Ryodan – or at least Kuroro – had managed to spy around his home for ten days and none of the Kuruta, none of their elders, had noticed. If they had, maybe the raid wouldn't have happened, or at least the result wouldn't have been as devastating.

Maybe he wouldn't have had to run around trying to avoid getting mugged by random collectors, nor would he have to masquerade to keep track of the goings-on in the underground. He wouldn't be the Chain Assassin in the first place.

Here he was, the so-called avenger of his broken heritage, in front of his arch nemesis pondering on "what could have beens" and _angsting_. This was hardly the mortal enemy thing to do. Killua would laugh.

"You've grown up," was the idle comment that reached him through his haze and slightly surprised him. He didn't look up.

It had been two years since they last met; no matter how young Kuroro thought the Chain Assassin was before, he knew the youth was at least of legal age now. There was an otherworldly weariness surrounding the thin body like second skin, and under the classy make-up and feminine handsomeness, Kuroro could tell that the boy's skin had gone sallow. Now he looked _too_ old for his age.

Not that he could be blamed. Two weeks of being paraded around with restricted movement would do that to anyone.

"You've also been catching unwanted attention to yourself. How did you end up there?"

"Unwanted attention, is right," Kurapika muttered darkly. He recalled how Zenji, of all people, had exposed him, and swore to smash the man's face in the next time they met, chains or no chains. It didn't even matter if it would be in the land of the living – as long as he'd be able to do it. Maybe if he died in the hands of the psychotic samurai somewhere in the building, his _Nen_ would haunt Kuroro and Zenji forever.

"The starting price for you was two hundred billion jennies."

"That's about right. According to the Hunter site, I'm a C to B class bounty." Why were they having this conversation, Kurapika asked himself, shifting with difficulty to wrap his arms around his knees. His elbow refused to move properly.

"If you can improve your fighting skill, you can be an A class."

"So?"

"That means an A-class gang of criminals, like say, the Genieryodan, would prioritize your theft."

Red eyes flared up again, and this time, the blond couldn't help but snap his glare up at the man who was giving him the damnedest smile he had ever seen.

"You should go rest."

"Why do you keep on insisting on the matter?"

"Because you didn't even notice when I released your _Nen_. There is barely enough of it left for you to even perform _Ten_ properly." The Skill Hunter had disappeared from his hands, just as the Kuruta's _Nen_ had apparently done. "The poisonous _Nen_ sustained itself by eating yours, and whatever it left behind, your Eyes burned away. I suppose the men who captured you had no idea what the consequences of their actions were."

He wasn't afraid that Kurapika would kill him in the night when his _Nen_ returned just enough for him to materialize the Judgement Chain. Kuroro prided himself for being a good judge of character – he wouldn't have lived for as long as he had with his kind of profession without having accurate evaluations of the people he interacted with. It hadn't been difficult to tell that the last Kuruta wouldn't try to kill him, just as he failed to do so two years past.

To reinforce that idea, logic told him that Kurapika was a person of principles and strong morals – he would never hurt someone he owed his life to, even if that same someone was the cause for his misery.

Meanwhile, Kurapika swore his brain had stopped functioning at the less-than-subtle hint Kuroro had dropped about knowing a lot about the Kuruta and their Scarlet eyes. He didn't know what to do. He felt even more confused when, as he watched the leather-covered back walk away from him, he hardly felt any malicious inclinations of stabbing the man through the back.

------

1:15 AM 7/22/2005


	2. Chapter 2: Something Smaller

**Filched**

**By Yukitsu**

Disclaimers: Hunter X Hunter is not mine. No profit, please don't sue, no money, just a college student about to graduate this semester here.

Notes: Not as much of a crack as the first chapter anymore, and I think I got rid of the head-hopping. But at any rate, I'd still like to keep this as humour. Even though it's so sad now that it's not funny anymore.

Dedication to Lynlyn, as usual, who I now fondly call Lynffles and eat the food of when we see each other. Yes, this is to thank you for your choco-banana-mango thing. XD

And Inverse-chan, because her drabbles rock.

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

_Something Smaller._

He had enough _Nen_ to cover his presence up with _Zetsu_. If he tried hard enough, he'd even be able to pull _In_ off, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep it up. No matter how much he tried to will his body to, it would not recover overnight – or, in this case, four hours.

What mattered was that he could move around without attracting attention. Years of self-imposed training and the half-year he spent in the forest after the massacre alone had honed his stealth to a very fine degree. He wasn't as good at it as Killua, granted, but then again, not many people were.

It was nearly dawn. He didn't have much time to do what he came there for.

As he gazed down at the blank face of the sleeping Kuroro Lucifer, Kurapika mused vaguely on how nothing really changed with the man even through slumber. The dark-haired Dancho slept curled up on his left side, with an arm under his head and the other over his abdomen. Apart from his leather coat, nothing else had been taken off – he even had his boots on.

Kuroro still looked intimidating, in his charming and handsome way – Kurapika would have to admit that for a supposed master criminal, Kuroro looked very pleasant to the eyes. He had always assumed that only a monster could have been behind his clan's genocide.

But then, Kurapika had yet to convince himself Kuroro was otherwise.

The man was difficult to analyze. Kurapika wasn't too good with figuring people out – he still hadn't figured his present friends out yet – but he had a decent grasp of people's characters. Kuroro was, to put it mildly, an enigma.

It would have been easy to just leave Kurapika in the hands of the greedy bastards who had abused his heritage. It would have been easier still to just kill him on the spot for the sins he had done to the group in the past. Two years wasn't too long a time, but except for the samurai, he couldn't really feel any anger from the members of the Ryodan during the twisted reunion before; an unhidden wariness, maybe, but nothing more. It could be that they didn't think too much of two people's deaths, especially since they hadn't thought much of a whole tribe's demise, but he was still a threat.

Simply put, he knew this wasn't in character for the Spiders, or at the very least, the Spiders as he and everyone else knew them in his head.

So why, then, was the leader – who he concluded was the cause of this – acting against the general benefit of his group? As he was, even the failures of the Hunter Exam of his batch would have managed to finish him off without much effort. It would have been too easy.

He took his attention off the man as he stared at the spider crawling up the wall in one dark corner. It scuttled up, slid down, and then scuttled up again. Kurapika wished he could throw something at it.

If he thought about it, he wished he had something to stab Kuroro with too.

Kurapika stretched his hand, focused his _In_ as he materialized his Judgment chain, and let it hover over Kuroro's heart – he wasn't going to do anything, really, he owed the man his life and with his state of brain functioning at the moment, Kuroro would just find a way to get past his conditions anyway. The chain glinted, dully reflecting what little light filtered through the broken patches of dusty windowpane.

The Judgment Chain disappeared in the next second, and he struggled to keep his _Nen_ from flaring wildly at the break in the flow. Kuroro didn't even move, and he inwardly sighed in relief.

"There is hardly a need for this, Kuruta."

Kurapika jumped, tripped over his own feet – he really shouldn't have forced himself around with his weakened body, walking around in the dark no less – and landed on his rear on the floor in front of him. He stared at the man who was giving him an amused look.

"Your Eyes, Kuruta."

So bad was his shock that he could barely will it to return to normal.

"Since when--"

"The temperature rose a few degrees when you came in here," Kuroro cut him off, fluidly sitting up from his relaxed sleeping pose and crossing his legs. For some inexplicable reason, the blond felt his face heating up, and he concentrated on staring at his enemy's hair whilst he recomposed himself mentally.

"First time seeing me with my hair down?" Kuroro asked conversationally, causing Kurapika to blink, process, and glare in disbelief.

"There must be a reason why you're here, apart from trying to pretend that I'm a bloody corpse; I don't think you'd willingly socialize with me otherwise, and I did tell you we would be gone by morning. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I…" The blond didn't really know what to say, apart from 'Give me my family back.' As he tried to gather his thoughts in an organized sentence, he realized how stupid he must look, sprawled on the dirty floor. He hastily got to his feet but kept his eyes down.

"Have a seat."

He was about to say 'no, thank you,' but thought of how foolish it would make him seem if he just stood in front of the man like a student being berated by a teacher. Kurapika sat down at the edge of the bed, as far away from Kuroro as possible.

The mattress collapsed under him, and he yelped as his rear fell through the steel frame.

The older man said nothing, and Kurapika felt even more embarrassed because of it. He picked himself up with a little difficulty and stiffly resumed his seat, although he had to sit closer to the man to do so.

For the life of him, Kurapika didn't know why he was feeling embarrassed in the first place. This was his enemy, the person he vowed to _kill_ for murdering and treating his kin like mere artifacts.

"You still sit like you did as a child," Kuroro remarked.

"Why?" he finally said, not looking at the man.

"Why what?" Kuroro touched his elbow to his thighs, and the tips of his fingers together. "Why you're still alive?"

"Why you didn't mention about having seen me as a child before, when I still had you captive." A pause; Kurapika turned to face his host. "That, also."

Dark eyes blinked owlishly in surprise, in such a way that reminded Kurapika of Illumi. "It would hardly have been beneficial to me in that situation, seeing as you had me bound and under the threat of bloody murder at every slight – or non-existent – provocation. I was rather attached to my teeth, and you already punched one off."

"So now it's beneficial for you?" Kurapika said incredulously, wishing he could do some punching at the moment.

"Of course. It keeps you confused and submissive enough to not attack me. I wouldn't want to be the cause of your expiration."

"And you're telling me this for the same reason?" the blond demanded angrily, jumping up from his seat and glaring down at the man in renewed hate.

"Of course." There was a twinkle in the man's eyes. "You haven't attacked me yet, have you?"

Kurapika was speechless.

"As for your second question, I believe I have already, partly, answered that," Kuroro said smoothly, "You are, after all, one of the rarest treasures currently in existence. It would be a shame if you were to die, since your worth would degenerate only to your Eyes and, while they are extremely valuable, would fetch a lesser price in the market."

"Y-you bastard!" When the weight of the explanation hit, Kurapika turned livid and his eyes flashed back to bright red. His _Nen_ pulsated wildly and erratically; his chains wavered sharply into existence and tinkled together angrily. To be regarded as a treasure was lost on him, and he could only notice that he had been thought of as a mere _object_. Similar thoughts had taken so much from him and his tribe, and with a jolt, he realized that the person in front of him had a lot to do with that.

"The Kuruta and our eyes are not objects," Kurapika's voice cracked, "To be sold and coveted by anyone who has enough money to do so."

Kuroro gave him an amused look. "What do you think of the Geneiryodan as the main target of bounty hunters, then?"

"It's not the same."

"You think so?" Before Kurapika could open his mouth to reply, Kuroro had cut him off. "But it is not a matter that is worth discussing."

Kurapika stared at him in rising disbelief.

"Valuable or not," the dark-haired man continued, shifting his position to meet Kurapika's eyes, "The Geneiryodan has no interest in you. However, I consider myself an aesthete, and I see your potential. Seeing as you have ceased to be a danger to the group, I thought it best to let you be."

Kuroro Lucifer, Kurapika thought vaguely as he lashed out with a fist, was an incredibly annoying and arrogant bastard.

His fist met the palm of the stronger man's hand, and before Kurapika knew what was happening, Kuroro was on his feet and Kurapika was sprawled gracelessly on the bed. The frame creaked and the mattress sent up a puff of dust.

"I would think that a scholar such as yourself would understand the state of disadvantage that he is in, and the denotation of the word 'rest,'"

Kurapika swore, and was attacked by a coughing fit that hurt his lungs in such a way that reminded him of the ashes of his home. This was the man who had burned it, who had sealed his fate into becoming what he was now.

_A pathetic child lying on a bed of mold and dust,_ his mind whispered to him. He killed the thought.

"I suggest ceasing this meaningless pursuit for the day, Kuruta," Kuroro said, voice tinged with both amusement and stern command. "My Ryodan's patience can only last so long, and they have proven to become rather protective of their head."

The blond remained silent, staring straight ahead at the wall, stubbornly ignoring the man. A sliver of Kuroro's coat glinted at him from the corner of his vision; he fought to keep the bile down his throat.

Another moment of silence. "Very well, then. I trust that you will take my advice and not leave this room for the duration of the night. The Geneiryodan shall be heading North, in the morning. You would do well to take a route to the South."

Kurapika didn't answer, but curled in around himself. He thought he must look lonely.

"Good night, Kuruta." He couldn't even hear the man's footsteps.

Kurapika let himself succumb to a fitful sleep, and in the morning, he found the Geneiryodan gone as promised.

He went South.

* * *

The eyes of the Kuruta were highly prized by collectors everywhere. So beautiful and unique were their color that they had been listed as one of the most wonderful colors of the world. The fact that the tribe had been wiped out more than doubled each pair's value. For every pair that disappeared, the value of the remaining pairs increased. Simple law of supply and demand.

What if someone had survived the genocide? What if that survivor went about collecting what belonged to his kin? The value not only of the remaining pairs would sky-rocket, but also of that survivor. To be the only one in the world, with nothing that could substitute his existence, made Kurapika one of the rarest treasures alive.

In two years, twenty pairs of eyes had disappeared from the market, eight more pairs were safely locked in various collectors' vaults, and only seven were being circulated.

Kurapika was a C-class on his own, while the eyes were D-class. The fact that he was skilled at hiding himself and fighting off the bounty hunters that did chance upon him made him a B-class.

Kurapika had raised his and his kin's eyes' level by at least two on his own in two years. The black market was in an uproar.

In another year, all the circulating eyes had been retrieved. Kurapika had also stepped out into the open, attracting the attention of nearly every bounty hunter and every collector in the world. And he could fight them off. He had been training. It was only fit.

He had raised his rank to A.

* * *

11:30 AM 11/9/2006 – though, I typed about ninety percent of this way back, about the same time I posted chapter one.

Tell me about what you think of the dialogue! D: Kuroro's voice in my head sounds a little too aristocratic.


End file.
